Sam's Poetry Journal
by InsanityIsClarity
Summary: Sam's Poetry Journal as mentioned in The English Assignment. Sam's thoughts and feelings as she goes through everything from the first day of fifth grade to meeting Tucker and Danny for the first time. I don't own DP- go figure. Slightly AU- Sam doesn't meet Danny and Tucker until the sixth grade, but everything else is the same.
1. August 27th and 28th

**AN: Here is the 5-day-awaited Sam's Poetry Notebook. Now, I know Sam may seem a bit OOC at the beginning, but you have to remember, this was is four years before the start of the series. She will become the Sam that we are used to in time. On that note, I hope you guys enjoy chapter 1!**

Sunday August 27th, Summer before 5th grade:

Okay, so I'm not sure exactly how you start a journal like this, so I'll just do my best. I'm going to call you Journal, okay? Okay. May as well start out by saying how I came about writing in you.

I love my parents. Always have, always will. But lately they are starting to get really annoying. Or maybe it's just me, I don't know. Purple has always been my favorite color, and if they ever let me trade out my glasses for contacts, even my eyes will become purple. My parents were always fine with me wearing purple, until about a month ago. They started talking about how girls should wear pink and act ladylike. Newsflash! I'm ten years old, not a lady. Not even close.

So now I'm wearing pink all the time. But that really doesn't explain why I'm writing in you, does it, Journal? Well, I looked up 'I hate pink, and am being forced to wear it by my parents, what do I do?' on google. I found a bunch of links to Goth related websites. Now Goth culture has always interested me, for some absurd reason, so I looked up how one would become a Goth.

The website I was on said all this stuff about wearing black and dying your hair black (mine already is) and wearing black make up (which I have vowed never to use, make up is for idiots.) and a bunch of other stuff I would never get away with. So, after reading through the entire list, I found the most doable thing for me. A journal/diary full of your thoughts and darkish poems.

And here I am now, writing in a black notebook, the day before fifth grade starts. I still haven't written a poem, guess I'm feeling uninspired. What to write about, what to write about…. I've got it! Watch out world, here comes Samantha- Sam if you want to live to see another day (wow, I'm already getting good at this threatening death thing!)- Manson's first poem!

What to write, what to write?  
>My mind is a blank slate right now.<br>Find a topic, find a topic,  
>Something I must first do.<br>No ideas, no ideas,  
>My mind is blank.<br>But I guess a blank slate  
>Can be considered as beautiful as a filled one.<br>For while a filled slate has beautiful words and pictures,  
>A blank slate has potential.<br>What to write, what to write?  
>The possibilities are endless.<p>

And you, Journal, with your empty pages upon empty pages, are my blank slate.

The possibilities are endless.

Signed,

Samantha Manson.

**oOoOoOo**

Monday August 28th, First day of fifth grade

So, I'm writing my second entry on the same page as my previous one. Why? Because paper Is a valuable resource and should not be wasted! Plus, I want this journal to last for a while. I'm going to use all the room on every page front and back until there is no more room.

So today was the first day of fifth grade at Amity Park Elementary Academy, one of the two elementary schools in Amity Park. Bad news? I'm still going to this stupid rich kids school. Good news? There is only one middle school in Amity Park, and it is a public one. Thank goodness.

And the other good news is that all of my classmates don't know how rich I really am. They just assume I'm going to this school because I live closer to here than the other school. Not that anyone has ever asked me about it. People generally don't talk to me here.

Not like I care though. Another Goth page I read this morning said that Goths are apathetic- meaning that they don't show concern or enthusiasm for anything- and are happy as outcasts. Not that I needed much help being an outcast or apathetic for that matter. I already was fairly ignored at this school because of what my apparent anger issues. And I was happy being ignored. After all, if you look in any movie, any TV show, there's always an outcast. At Amity Park Elementary Academy, it may as well be me.

So, all in all, my day was pretty good. Fifth graders get two lockers, so I have enough room in there for my three mini recycling bins. I keep them in there because, for some reason, our school doesn't have a recycling system. So I take it upon myself to recycle as much as I can fit in the bins and take them home every day with me to recycle there… my parents are also ultra recyclo vegetarians, probably one of the only things we have in common. Well other than our last name.

And here I am now, writing in you, Journal. Now all that's left is to write a poem. Here I go!

Life's a play  
>We all have a part.<br>Everyone in life must assign  
>Themselves a role<br>In this show  
>This show we call life.<p>

Someone has to be the good girl  
>Someone has to be the bad dude.<br>Someone has to be the victim.  
>Someone has to be the savior.<p>

Someone's got to be the shy guy.  
>Someone's got to be the queen bee.<br>Another somebody's got to be the outcast,  
>And that somebody may as well be me.<p>

The outcast.  
>The role I've assigned myself.<br>The one who doesn't want to fit in.  
>The one who's usually ignored.<br>The individualist,  
>The independent one.<br>Someone's got to play that role.  
>And it might as well be me.<p>

Not a bad poem, if I do say so myself. Can I say so myself? I don't know…

Either way, signing off,

Samantha Manson.

**AN: Hope you liked this! Remember to leave a review, they are greatly appreciated!**


	2. August 29th

**AN: And here's chapter two! Now some of you might notice that Sam meets Danny and Tucker in at least the second grade in the show, and meets them in the sixth grade in this story (Thanks to LunaTheBlackWolf for pointing that out to me). I have changed the time they met in this story, meaning it is slightly AU. Hope you guys don't mind and enjoy the chapter!**

Tuesday, August 29th, 5th Grade

Car rides with you.  
>The sky is a mixture of orange<br>And purple and blue and pink.  
>The radio is playing softly<br>Some oldies station.  
>And we talk, you and me.<br>And I have never been more relaxed.  
>No pressure, just driving.<br>No faking, just talking.  
>No hiding, 'cuz there is no need to.<br>I'm perfectly relaxed  
>For the only time ever<br>When I'm on a car ride with you.

And no, that is not some sappy romantic poem, for your information! That is a poem about car rides with my uncle. I swear, Uncle Jem is the only one who really listens to me. My classmates don't notice me, my teachers are too busy, and I'm ashamed to admit that lately I've actually been getting scared of talking to my parents. Every time I even bother with saying 'hi' to them, they start talking to each other- as if I weren't even there- about ways to make me appear more ladylike. Well, you know what? I think that's sexist!

Sure I'm a girl, but that doesn't mean I have to love the color pink. That doesn't mean I should be graceful and gentle! And I most definitely will NOT learn how to cook! The only time I've even attempted cooking, I was trying to make myself some cookies, and let's just say, a lot of ingredients were wasted.

But back to my uncle. Every Tuesday, I have guitar practice (did I mention that I'm learning how to play guitar? No? Well I asked for a guitar for my 10th birthday, but my parents said no. If I wanted to learn an instrument, I could learn the flute or the piano. Sexist, I say, sexist!

Anyways, somehow my uncle Jem heard about my request and when he showed up at my birthday party (the family one my parents force me to have each year. Although I'm not exactly a people person, I usually don't mind the annual celebration just for the fact that I get to see my Uncle Jem.) he had a beautiful acoustic guitar in hand. While my parents were opposed to me learning the instrument at first (why? I have no idea…), Uncle Jem can be pretty persuasive, and they eventually relented on the agreement that he would take me to my lesson each Tuesday afternoon after school.

I've had five so far (today's included), and I'm really enjoying the weekly time with my uncle. At this time it's almost a tradition. He picks me up in front of school in his jeep, the hood down so that the wind blows in our hair. I climb in the car, putting the guitar case I was carrying with me in the back seat. He usually already has the radio on to an oldies rock station. While I generally don't like romantic music (I prefer rock), oldies romance songs and oldies rock songs (which are also played on the station) are admittedly great.

As soon as I get in the car, he will ask me how my day went. I will tell him, sharing how we are starting to study the revolutionary war in history and the cool abstract drawing project drawing we're doing in art. I will repeat his question back to him, and he will say his day is great. He never really says more about his day, but he is a generally quiet person so I don't push.

He's been especially quiet since my Aunt Julia's death two years ago. Before Aunt Julia died of lung cancer, he was always joking and laughing. And she was always right alongside him, laughing at his jokes and cracking some of her own. They were the world's most perfect couple. And then she died.

And people wonder why I'm an antiromantic! Okay, so no one really cares about me to wonder why I don't believe in love (or really to know that I don't), but I don't. True love is very rare. And those who are lucky enough to possess it end up being the unlucky ones- having their time together cut tragically cut short. IT'S NOT FAIR! Why should couples who argue and squabble all the time get to stay together in misery while the only people I ever knew who were truly in love got their time together shortened by fate? Why?

But I'm getting off track. After we exchange our question, we usually won't talk again until we get to my instructor's house. Instead, we will sing along to the radio. Every once in a while he will ask me if I know who sang/played a certain song. I never will know and or remember who the artist is, so he will tell me. It's actually quite impressive how much he is able to remember.

Once we get to my instructor's house, I will get out of the car, and he will drive off, promising to return in thirty minute's time. After 30 minutes of plucking my way through a fairly easy song, he will pick me up, and we will head over to the Nasty Burger, per tradition. I will order a salad and he will order a nasty meal. While we wait the few minutes for our fast food to come out, he will usually take out the crayons and placemats they set at the table and start drawing something. I will follow suit, although my drawings are never nearly as good.

When we finally finish our food, we leave the restaurant (go figure) and he will drive me home, sad that the night is over and looking forward to next Tuesday.

I love Tuesdays.

Signing off,

Samantha Manson.

**AN: Welp that's it for chapter 2, remember to review. Thanks**


	3. August 30th

**AN: I know I haven't updated recently (by this story's standards), but here I am! And I have with me… FIVE ALL NEW POEMS! Enjoy, everyone, enjoy**

Wednesday, August 30th.

Hey Journal. I don't really have a lot to say about school today, outside the fact that it sucked. But that's normal. So if you don't mind, I'm just going to write a few poems on how I feel about middle school in general. Kinda like a rant, in a poetic form. And here I go!

Every single movie cliché  
>Out there says<br>That the jocks bully the nerds.  
>That the nerds are innocent.<br>This is somewhat true.  
>The jocks bully the nerds.<br>But the nerds shun the outcasts.  
>And the outcasts mock the jocks.<br>For five days a week, 7 hours a day,  
>Until at the end of the day, the final bell rings.<br>Then we all go home  
>And come back the next day<br>We arrive, and the jocks bully the nerds  
>And the nerds shun the outcasts<br>And the outcasts mock the jocks  
>To school we arrive<br>And the vicious cycle returns.

That poem was just kinda what I've learned from watching. I observe my classmates because I really don't have anything better to do. And I've found that while the jocks bullying the nerds is the stereotypical form of mean, there are other forms. And each form is just as damaging. We outcasts don't like being ignored all the time. Sure we like it a lot of the time, but no one wants to live in complete solitude, including me.

I know I am guilty of mocking the jocks from time to time, but usually I do it when they aren't around. Not the same can be said for some of the other "unaccepted" kids at my school. (Why don't I hang out with them, if none of us are accepted by society, you ask? Simple answer: they are creeps. Enough said.) And don't let them fool you, the jocks actually don't like their reputation as arrogant jerks. In all actuality, half of the jocks are just athletic kids who want to play sports. The other half are the ones that bully the nerds and act all cool. But the first half isn't too bad (even if they are pretty clique-y) and they don't like it how they get the same bad rep as the other half.

So, yeah. That poem was basically about things I've observed. Here's another poem- a slightly more angry one.

Their laughter mocks me  
>Their happiness makes me bitter<br>What did they do to deserve joy  
>When I wallow in eternal misery<br>They laugh at a joke  
>How can they make a joke right now?<br>How can they act so normal  
>while my world is upside down<br>Then again, they never cared about me  
>Or my hopes and dreams<br>And here I sit embittered  
>While once again they laugh.<p>

This is pretty much what happens when everyone is laughing at a stupid joke while I'm having a terrible day. Okay, so I might've exaggerated a little, but you get the point. And why was my day so bad, you ask? Truth is, I don't know. I think my teenage hormones are coming in early, cuz any slightly annoying thing REALLY irritated me today. Topped with the fact that I had a headache today, let's just say I was not in the best mood. The only reason I actually survived was that I kept writing poems on small slips of papers during my classes. Here's one I wrote in English.

I rarely get dreams during the night.  
>However I daydream constantly<br>I dream of a world unseen  
>I world unknown even to me<br>I admit some of my dreams are conceited  
>If some saw them they'd think I were arrogant<br>But I can't stop dreaming about something better  
>Than this pitiful existence I live in now<br>The existence in which I live  
>Yet I don't live, not really.<br>I just make it through the day  
>Thinking about reality as little as possible<br>While my mind is far away  
>While I'm dreaming my dream.<p>

I honestly have no idea where that one came from, but it sure fits me. I guess. Anyways, here's a poem I wrote in History class. It's really short, but I honestly think it is one of the best poems I've ever written. Even though I've only written 7 poems thus far- including the one I'm about to share.

You all live such perfect lives  
>And even my best lies<br>That tell me mine will be okay  
>Aren't quite convincing me today.<p>

Simple but deep, in my opinion. But then again who cares about that? I might just be being conceited, might just like the poem because I wrote it. But I still think the poem is good. Does that make me conceited or proud of my work or do I just like the poem as a poem? I don't know! I never know, and I probably never will. And, in all honesty, not knowing is what bugs me most in life.

But enough about my internal crisis. I've got to push it to the back of my mind or else it will consume my thoughts and eat me from the inside out. I know this from experience. So change of topic!

The best part (and only good part) of my day waking up early enough to see the sunrise. I wrote a poem about that too .

As I look out the window  
>I see the green ground below.<br>I watch the sky dance  
>With the soft colors of a sunrise<br>The pinks, yellows, and blues,  
>fly over the beautiful green.<br>And create a view like no other  
>A view of the early morning.<p>

And that, dear Journal, was my day. In poem form. And now to turn this relatively bad day around, I'm going to go visit my greenhouse. See ya later, Journal!

Till next time,

Sam Manson.

**AN: Hope you enjoyed. Remember to review- they are greatly appreciated!**


	4. September 15th and 20th

**AN: Today I have something special for you guys! While most of my previous poems have been written by me recently, ALL of todays are some of the first poems I've ever written (although the first one is slightly tweaked)… in the sixth grade. Will they be kinda stupid? Probably. Will they provide better insight as to what a fifth or sixth grader might actually write? Probably. So, enjoy!**

Friday September 15th

Hey Journal. Sorry I haven't written in you in a while; I've been busy. Lately it feels like everything is changing. Literally! And what, you might ask, is changing?

Grandpa Manson died. Next to my uncle Jem and Aunt Julia, he and Grandma Manson were my favorite relatives. Now Aunt Julia is dead and Grandpa Manson is with her. Course Uncle Jem is my mom's brother and Grandpa Manson was my dad's dad, but still. And it's hitting Grandma Manson hard.

So hard that she moved in with us. Don't get me wrong, I love having my grandma living with us. I just wish it wasn't because her husband died and she doesn't want to be lonely. Not to mention, she's not exactly the same as she was before. I feel myself becoming more dark just by being with her. Guess all I can do is to be there and hope she reverts back to her old self eventually.

So yeah, it seems like it's the end of the world as I know it. Yet I feel fine. (Kudos to you Journal, if you got that reference.) Anyways, on to poetry.

I'm proud to be me  
>But should I be?<br>I'm not close to normal, and I'm okay with that  
>But parts of me could be classified as bad<br>A lot of times I'm not so nice  
>And you shouldn't really take my advice<br>I hold grudges long  
>And I thing I'm strong<br>I'm okay being Sam  
>But what if being Sam is being bad?<br>Does that mean I'm proud of my imperfections?  
>Do I even want to fix them?<br>Should I accept my flaws?  
>Or should I try to be a better person?<br>Should I be myself or be more like you?  
>I'm so confused.<p>

That poem describes my latest internal conflict. It all started when I realized that I was proud of being me- faults and all. But should I be proud of my faults? Am I being cocky, or happy with who I am?

She thinks I'm boring.  
>He thinks I'm annoying.<br>They think I read too much  
>And that I should just shut up.<br>But out of it, all I can see  
>Is all that it will ever be:<br>A difference of opinions.

See? There is that cockiness again. Grrrrr….

I think I'm going to go do some music therapy now.

Headphones, here I come!

Signing off,

Sam.

PS: Not Samantha, not anymore. Everything is changing, so my name might as well too. Anyone who calls me Samantha after this, watch out!

PPS: Wow, I really am getting better at this Goth stuff. Just kinda sucks that part of the reason I am becoming more Gothic is because my grandma is depressed.

oOoOoOo

Wednesday, September 20th

I am more complicated than you could ever know.  
>There are more parts to me than those that I show.<br>So don't try to write me a synopsis,  
>When of me, a lot is<br>Hidden from your view.  
>I may seem weak, but I am strong,<br>I may see strange, but I belong.  
>I may seem dumb, but I am smart,<br>I may seem rude, but I have a heart.  
>So before you think bad of me, search me entirely through.<p>

Ok, so you might've guessed, but I'm in a good mood today. And good moods mean happy poems. Which are pretty rare, and I'm fairly sure that Goths are supposed to write happy poems, but the internet also says that Goths are supposed to defy the stereotypes, so I will. And I bring you a happy poem… written by a Goth in training.

If I start to sing a song  
>And no one dares to dares to sing along<br>I will sing just as strong  
>All by myself<p>

If I do a random dance  
>And they give me a funny glance<br>I guess I'll have to take that chance  
>And applaud myself<p>

If I say a bad rhyme  
>And they think I have lost my mind<br>I'll find a new one for next time  
>All by myself!<p>

If I act plain silly  
>And they see me disapprovingly<br>All the sillier I will be  
>All by myself!<p>

If they think I'm doing not so well  
>And offer me some help<br>I'll say I can do it just as swell  
>All by myself!<p>

One sec, Journal, my parents need me. Be right back!

oOoOoOo

Okay, I'm back. And I think I might be able to deliver that stereotypical Goth poem now. My grandma was sad, my parents are mad, and now I'm both. But anyways, here's my poem.

Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important you'd listen.  
>Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important, you'd remember.<br>Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important, you'd care; you'd care.

So just forget I said I wanted you to stay. Just go way; go away.  
>Cause it's obvious you don't care for me. Now I see; now I see.<br>But don't expect me not to make a comeback.  
>You didn't hurt me all that bad.<p>

Maybe I'm still in pain.  
>But it can go as fast as it came.<br>So just forget about me, I couldn't care less.  
>If you moved on, it's for the best.<p>

So that isn't exactly how I feel about my parents or grandma, but when I get angry/sad I can make my poems as depressing as I want, no limits. And I do.

Signing off,

SAM!

**AN: I hope you enjoyed that! I can honestly say I'm glad I'm no longer in the sixth grade. Remember to review- more reviews means faster updates!**

**Signing off,**

**INSANITYISCLARITY!**


	5. October 17th

Thursday, October 17th

Today was a good day.

It feels like everything that could go right did. We got no homework in any of our subjects, the new salad bar opened up today at lunch. And we started our track and field unit in gym. (I refuse to call it PE, because that stands for physical education and they haven't exactly educated us yet.) I like running, and am admittedly pretty good at it.

The only thing that was better than being able to run for 15 minutes straight was watching everyone else wonder how I got so fast… even the football players (who keep bragging about their first year of tackle… Ok, you can charge into someone… not very impressive in my opinion, but that's just me…) couldn't keep up with me. I'll have to try out for the track team next year at my new school (Amity Park Elementary only goes up to fifth grade).

When I run, I feel like I'm flying. Leaving earth behind me in favor of going somewhere higher up. The wind rushes past me, and the track around me starts to blur. It's just me and the vast expanse of blue above me.

On another note, today in English we had to read our what-we-want-to-be-when-we-get-older essays we've been writing of the past week in front of our class. I honestly thought that fifth graders would be more mature, but I was wrong. Either way, it was fun to laugh at how stupid some of the essays were.

Half of the guys said they wanted to be football players. A lot of the girls said they wanted to be models. Some of the nerds said they wanted to be authors or inventors. I said I wanted to be an activist. That I wanted to help people and animals get their rightful rights.

"So, like a superhero?" my teacher asked me.

I was never into comic books or superhero movies. They just seemed so… unrealistic. How a person could juggle to identities is beyond me. Plus, I find when I read stories heroes, be them military, civilian, or super heroes, I find myself longing to be a hero.

But I will probably never be one. Or, at least in society's view. I will probably never save a life, I will probably never be selfless enough to sacrifice myself for someone else, and I will never have super powers. I'll be lucky if I even know a true hero before I die.

"No, not like a hero. An activist. As in fighting for people's and animals' rights. I'm not going to be a superhero."

"You want to fight for other people… and animals… who can't fight for themselves. Sounds like a hero to me."

Maybe it did sound like a hero. But sounds like and is are two different things.

I will never be a superhero. But I do want to help people. I want to make a difference… a positive difference. Even if it is a small one.

And maybe then I'll be a hero, maybe one day I'll save a life. Or help save a life. Maybe I'll change someone's life for the better.

I sure hope so.

Oh wow. I went from talking about track and field to making some sappy statements about being a hero.

But it's true, someday I WILL help someone. Someday I'll be a hero.

No I won't! How could I make a difference? I'm an anti-social, trying-to-be-apathetic aspiring Goth. Doesn't sound like someone who could help someone.

Anyone can help someone. Maybe I will prevent someone from doing something dangerous by saying something nice to them. You never know.

Oh come on, Sam! When was the last time you said something nice to someone? I'd be more likely to say something to make that person do something crazy, knowing me.

Then I guess I'll just have to be nicer to people!

Being nice gets you hurt. Being kind gets you walked on. Being hopeful just makes the disappointment when what you hoped for doesn't happen even worse.

But… but I can try! And sometimes what I hope for happens.

Rarely. Just don't hope for a lot, and I'll be fine.

But hope keeps us alive!

These are the types of internal conflicts that ravage my head all the time. To hope or not to hope… that is the question. Sometimes I wish I truly was apathetic. Then I wouldn't have to deal with this crap.

But then I wouldn't be able to feel any emotions, including the good ones. Like happiness or peace.

As is, I'm rarely happy. And apathetic people are always at peace.

I HATE ARGUING WITH MYSELF LIKE THIS! I don't like fighting with myself…. No matter which side wins, I always lose. Plus its somewhat weird to be writing out an argument between me and myself. Oh well. I've got bigger problems.

Like the fact that I can never come to a conclusion about my feelings. Usually I just stop thinking about it before I get myself too confused. Like right now. I'm going to stop thinking about this in 5… 4… 3…. 2… 1!

Ok! But like I said, other than that internal debate I just had, today was pretty good. Although I still have to write a poem…

They always told me  
>"Don't let others get you down."<br>They always said,  
>"Don't let them get into your head."<br>Well that's great and all  
>And thanks to them I don't care<br>What others think of me,  
>But I can't help to think, that they were wrong.<br>They told me to not let them get me down.  
>But they didn't say anything about me hurting myself<br>They didn't mention I'd be fighting my worst enemy  
>And now I'm fighting me.<br>They said that guarding myself from others made me strong,  
>But they were wrong.<p>

Well, that was deep.

Time to think about something else!

See ya later, Journal,

Yours truly,

Sam.

**AN: And that was that chapter. Sam's internal battle? Yea, that has basically what has been going on my mind since I started watching cartoons with super heroes in them. Well, I'm going to make like Sam and think of something else, so don't forget to leave a review and I'll see you soon!**


	6. November 13th and 16th and December 12th

**AN: Today I also bear you guys a gift: Instead of the one or two journal entries that usually get put into a chapter, today I bring you three! Kind of like triplets! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy and happy Valentine's Day (AKA Happy Anniversary-of-a-Roman-Priest's-Execution-Date Day)! And remember to leave a review**

Tuesday, November 13th

Hello Journal. So I know I'm only writing in you about once a month. Sorry, but I've been busy. I'll try to write more often, but I can't promise anything.

So lately I've been reading a book about a person who is forced by an insane person to live through his worst nightmares. Eventually he lives through all of them, and gets out of the fear world and goes after and kills the maniac. But I've been thinking, if I had to live through my worst fears, what would I have to live through?

Let's see. My fears from least to greatest….

5) I'm afraid of being helpless. I'm afraid of someone needing help and not being able to help. Worse yet- being the 'damsel in distress.' Why can't there be a 'dude in distress'? If I were in the fear world, that fear would probably be manifested in me having to watch someone get hurt.

4) Pain. I'm not afraid of death. I'm afraid of being in excruciating pain and having to survive through it. I don't even want to know what that fear would look like in the fear world.

3) Maturing. Yes, I'm afraid of maturing. I don't want to have to grow up and be responsible. I don't want to have no time for doing the things I love. In the fear world, I'd probably have to be a mature, busy adult going through her midlife crisis.

2) Solitude. While being by myself is relaxing and happy sometimes, if I'm by myself for too long, I go slightly insane. I'd probably be stuck in an all-white room with nothing to do.

1) Change. I'd probably have to go through a world where everything I loved was either gone or distorted.

But that's depressing, and today was a pretty good day. It was a Tuesday, after all.

Fears  
>I'm afraid of being helpless<br>I'm scared of pain and of maturity  
>I wish not to be in solitude<br>And I wish not for things to change  
>I don't want to face my fears<br>But I know someday I will  
>And when that day comes<br>I will face them head on.  
>Because everyone is afraid,<br>But not everyone can conquer their fears.

Signing off,

SAMMMMMMMM

**oOoOoOo**

**Friday, November 16****th**

Hey, Journal, I'm writing in you twice in one week. Aren't you proud of me? And what, you wonder, is the cause for such a rare occurrence? It's because today I witnessed a national phenomenon!

Okay, so there's this really loud kid in my class named Cade. He is always talking, making jokes, or just being loud. While I do admit that a lot of times he is funny, and he does break up the monotony of school, sometimes it can get a bit too much. And he never stops!

So today my parents forced me to go a fifth grade girls basketball game so that I could "socialize with the other spectators my age." They didn't even go with me! Anyways, I was sitting by myself as far away from everyone else as possible, and I looked around at the crowd. There was Cade, sitting silently- not even cheering when the team scored a point- by himself- no parents or friends- watching the game.

My theory? He has a façade. He is not always loud and over the top; sometimes he is quiet, and he has to be loud when he is because he feels the need to compensate for the times he has to be quiet and or has no one to talk to.

Absurd theory? Definitely. Possible? Definitely.

Masks.  
>Who are you,<br>Underneath your exterior?  
>Are you really who I think you are,<br>Are you really as you appear?  
>Is your mask a subconscious one,<br>That even you don't know is there  
>Or did you make it yourself,<br>So that others don't know you care?  
>Are you hiding what's inside,<br>Or are you hiding your situation?  
>Do you want others to find the real you,<br>Or is there no way one earth you'll let them in?  
>I get why you would and I get why you wouldn't<br>But I can't help but doubt that I'll ever get you.

And that was that.

Signing off for now,

The one and only Sam

(P.S. Actually there are millions of Sams, but pretend that there aren't, ok?)

**oOoOoOo**

**Wednesday, December 12****th**

My mother called me a demented psychopath today.

She asked me to smile for her, and I did, a big smile, and she called me psycho!

I'm fine with being called introverted, strange, unusual, and even crazy, but not demented, and definitely not psycho. If you're introverted, strange, unusual, or even crazy, that means you have at least some control over your actions. A demented psychopath doesn't.

And I have perfect mental health. Just because I'm a girl who doesn't like girly things, a fifth grader who's a pessimist, and a child who has reconciled herself with death, that doesn't mean I'm psycho. That doesn't mean I'm demented. I'm not a demented psychopath right?

I don't wanna be a demented psychopath…

Call me crazy  
>Call me insane<br>I don't care,  
>I don't feel a thing<br>I have perfect mentality  
>Maybe even better than perfect<br>Just cuz I'm not normal  
>Doesn't mean I'm not right in my head.<br>I can be different  
>And still be perfectly sane,<br>Just you watch me!

Signing off,

Sane Sam.

**AN: And that was that. I will admit that those poems aren't my best, but I still think they are okay… right? Anyways, leave a favorite, follow or review. They are greatly appreciated!**

**See you next time!**

**Signing off,**

**Sane InsanityIsClarity**


	7. January 3rd and February 19th

**Thursday, January 3rd**

When I get older, if I get married, I think I want to get married in an ivory dress. Not even I would wear a black dress at a wedding, but I wouldn't wear a white one. White symbolizes purity, perfection, a promise of perfection. A promise of something unachievable. Ivory, is still somewhat pure, but not completely. A hope for perfection, but not a promise. I could try ivory.

Then again, maybe I don't want to get married. I've been growing up in a home in which it is strictly set that the man is in charge. I can sometimes see why it would be nice to have one person in charge, I just don't want that for me. And yet, I always grew up that way. But I'm starting to question it. And no one is answering my dang questions!

So do I follow my parents, trusting tradition, or do I forge my own path, hoping desperately that I don't fail? Right about now I've just been pushing the thoughts of marriage, dating and the like to the back of my head. I know it can't stay in the dark recesses of my mind forever, but I'll keep it there as long as possible.

Do I trust what I have always known,  
>What I have always seen<br>As I have grown?  
>Or do I trust myself,<br>With my interesting ideals?  
>Are they right or wrong?<br>Some around me say they are wrong,  
>And others tell me that I am right,<br>So should or shouldn't I fight  
>For my ideals?<br>Are my ideals idiotic or revolutionary?  
>Am I being stubborn or a visionary?<br>To follow tradition would be simple  
>All I have to do is follow those before me<br>Or I could blaze a trail, hoping I'm not heading for a cliff.  
>Do I stay on safe land or do I set sail,<br>Knowing full well I'm heading into a storm?  
>Is going into the unknown brave or idiotic<br>I'd ask you for your opinion,  
>But then I'd be back to where I was,<br>Indecisive.

Indecisive.  
>Don't have an answer<br>Not quite yet  
>Everyone confuses me,<br>With all their voices in my head.  
>How do you expect me to answer<br>If you keep shouting at me?  
>Can't concentrate, can't think<br>Can't come up with an answer  
>At least not soon enough.<br>Indecisive.

Wow, two poems in one day! I'm so proud of myself!

Goodbye for now,

Sam

**oOoOoOo**

**Tuesday, February 19th**

I have dubbed tonight The Last Tuesday Night. Why? Well Uncle Jem got transferred. Two hours away. Definitely too far to come see me on the weeknights, specifically Tuesday. I know I should be happy that he still has a job, instead of getting laid off like a lot of his co-workers, but Tuesday night is our night.

He picks me up from school. We listen to oldies music in the car. He drops me off at my guitar lessons, then go does who-knows-what for half an hour. He picks me up. We listen to more oldies music. We eat at Nasty Burger. We draw on our placemats with crayons- his drawings purely amazing and mine... not so much. I get a dinner salad, he gets a tofu sandwich- he's the one who came up with the ultra-recyclo-vegetarian thing- every time. I get him to smile and laugh with some jokes I learn just for Tuesdays. We get back in the car and listen to more oldies music. He drops me off at home. We repeat the next week.

That's the way it's been for about four months, and we both like it that way- or at least I think we both like it that way. I'm 99% sure we both do though.

And now our tradition is ending. And tonight was the last night before he moves. Our last Tuesday night.

The radio played softer than ever before  
>Commercials ran rampant on the radio.<br>With the sound of an advertiser in the background  
>We sat in the car in almost silence.<br>It was not awkward silence, yet not completely comfortable.  
>The kind of quiet that dares you to speak<br>Yet makes you not want to ruin the peace.  
>A song finally came on<br>But unfortunately, it was not 'our' song  
>I'd never heard of it, and he didn't comment<br>With the title and artist as he so often did.  
>The semi-silence goes on, and I looked out the window<br>At the cloudy, grey bad-day-cliché sky  
>Not an interesting sky like that of a thunderstorm,<br>Or peaceful like that of a completely blue sky  
>Nor was it beautiful like the multi-colored sunset.<br>Just grey. No rain, no sun, no blue. Grey.  
>Practice doesn't go very well,<br>Guess I shouldn't have procrastinated  
>When it comes to practicing…<br>But when he asked "How did it go?"  
>I lie and tell him it went well.<br>When we got to the fast food place  
>He doesn't draw much.<br>I draw my name,  
>And he watches me.<br>I'm proud when he says it is good.  
>But sad that he didn't draw too.<br>The food comes, and it is delicious,  
>However, there are no jokes,<br>As I have none memorized  
>And there is no laughter<br>Because nothing seems funny.  
>Eventually, we finished eating.<br>He drove me home.  
>And I waved walking up the steps<br>Wishing upon stars and genies and the like  
>That this didn't have to be<br>The Last Tuesday Night.

What will Tuesday nights be like from now on?

Will my parents still let me go to guitar practice?

How often will I see my uncle?

These are the questions,

Sam.

**AN: Hope you enjoyed these poems/journal entries! Remember to leave a review, follow or favorite-they are greatly appreciated! And I'll see you next time!**


	8. March 22nd, April 21st, May 29th

**Thursday, March 22****nd**

Do they not understand that sleep doesn't work on the restless soul?  
>Do they not know that slumber cannot alleviate stress?<br>Sleep is simply procrastination,  
>Too "tired" to do it so I'll do it tomorrow.<br>When I could be staying up being productive  
>I'm forced to waste time in unneeded slumber.<br>Stress only lifts when what is stressing you is gone,  
>And you can't complete a task when you're sawing logs.<br>I admit that I am tired,  
>I know that I am stressed.<br>But my stress would leave  
>If I could just abandon sleep<br>And do something worthwhile instead.

Dear Journal, lately I've gotten into the art of procrastination. And as I push everything back, the stress inside me builds. My mom thinks I just need sleep, but I don't need nor want sleep. I need more time. And what better place to get time from than from the times I "need" to sleep. And that's where we are now. Me writing in my journal by flashlight light. Still procrastinating my history homework. Oh well. I can always do it tomorrow morning, right?

Okay, I have a problem.

A problem I'll fix tomorrow.

In other news, my mom's been taking me to my guitar lessons. She still thinks that it's a waste of my time, but she says that since I started it, I should be able to finish it. And so I get to finish this year of guitar. Then I'm done, she says.

I love my parents. Okay, I try to love my parents. But it's getting harder and harder. They make me wear pink. They are taking away my guitar after this year. They are trying to teach me to act like a lady. Because that will work on me!

Well, it's 9:30 now. 45 minutes past my bedtime. Take that, parents!

Till next time,

(Now) Sleepy Sam.

**Saturday, April 21****st******

The stars in the sky leave me awestruck  
>The full moon calms me<br>The wind whistling through the tress branches  
>Makes me smile,<br>And the chilly wind feels good.  
>As I listen to the crickets chirp<br>And feel the dirt beneath the shoes  
>I realize that I truly love the open sky,<br>The stars, and the dreams.  
>I love the night.<p>

I've always kind of known I was a night person. But now I know for sure. I studied myself for fun today. I discovered I was in a TERRIBLE mood in the morning, but by the evening I was calm and happy. Definitely a night person.

Today, I have good news. My grandma showed me her photo albums today. I know it might seem like much, but considering the lady has been almost completely silent in the past half a year grieving her husband, it was great. She just asked me if I wanted to see some photos out of the blue when I got home from school. I said sure.

She pulled out this huge book of pictures of her when she was younger, her friends, her family, extended family, and even a few of her and grandpa. And she didn't cry. When I asked her if she was ok, she just told me that she had finally accepted his death. I think she's starting to move on.

I sure hope so. My grandma was a really fun person before grandpa died, and I hope she's starting to revert back to her former self. It'd make it a lot happier for the entire family.

**Tuesday, May 29th**

FINALLY!

Today was my last day at Amity Park Elementary Academy! No more private school! For sixth grade I get to go to the only middle school in all of Amity Park- Amity Park Middle. Creative name, huh?

Maybe I'll make friends. Hopefully I'll get good grades. And great teachers. And fun classes. I know my hopes are high, but hey, a girl can dream. Besides, IT'S SUMMER! A time for rest and relaxation… and going on my computer for hours on end.

Three months for working on becoming Goth. Three months figuring out how to sizzle instead of sweat. Don't ask me what that means, I have no idea. I just read it online. I have to read more! This is the summer that I go from aspiring Goth to complete Goth. And I have a plan.

1. Save up money. Shouldn't be too hard, with my allowance. 2. Get a ride to the mall that doesn't involve my parents. 3. Get Gothic clothes. 4. Sneak them into my closet. 5. Put them in my backpack in the morning. 6. Change into them at school. 7. Change back at the end of the day.

Simple enough, right?

I think I just jinxed myself.

The hardest part will probably be getting the ride to the mall. Seeing as my parents don't have regular, normal jobs, they are at home pretty much all of the time, seeing as home is where they run the family business. Maybe I can ask Grandma for a ride…

She and I have gotten pretty close lately. Two weeks ago she offered to start driving me to my guitar lessons, and, while it was somewhat awkward at first, we had fun. Afterwards, we went home and made some homemade (soymilk) ice cream. Apparently her motto is "I can die at any time, so I may as well eat dessert first." We had dinner later with my parents, and didn't tell them about our sugary snack.

We did that this past Tuesday too. I think this is the start of a new tradition- guitar lessons and homemade ice cream- but… when I call it that I feel a little like I'm betraying Uncle Jem and our tradition. Our tradition lasted so long, and it seems rude to just replace it like that. But I think Uncle Jem would want me to have fun with Grandma, and I'm happy (and I'm sure he would be too) that she is finally recovering from Grandpa's death.

Moving On  
>This doesn't mean that I'll forget you<br>This doesn't mean I don't want you back  
>And this doesn't change the fact<br>That I love you.  
>I just won't be able to love you in person.<br>I'll have to live on my memories and mementos  
>Instead of seeing your face in my life.<br>But that doesn't mean I won't remember the fun times  
>And just because I'm having fun with someone else<br>Doesn't mean I forgot about us.  
>It just means I'm loving you in my memory<br>While making new memories with someone else.  
>I'm just moving on.<br>But not forgetting; I will never forget.

That poem is kinda double sided. On one hand, it's about Grandma moving on from grieving for Grandpa, but not forgetting Grandpa. On the other, it's about me remembering the fun times I had with Uncle Jem while creating new memories with Grandma.

Well, that's all for today.

Happy Summer, Journal!

See ya,

Sam.

**AN: I hope you enjoyed these poems. Reviews, favorites and follows are greatly appreciated. Until next time,**

**InsanityIsClariy**


	9. June

**Friday, June 1****st**

Wow, I'm writing in here twice in one week. I'm shocked too.

Operation Goth is underway. My parents went out for some business meeting today for a few hours, and I asked Grandma if we could go to the mall. Apparently she used to be into darker clothes when she was younger too, even if it didn't have a specific title back then. So, we went to the mall.

I wanted to go Goth, but heading straight into Hot Topic at age eleven probably wouldn't go over well. So, we started at some smaller locally-owned stores. Five stores later, I had one object of clothing- a leather jacket. I know just wearing a leather jacket doesn't make you anywhere close to being Goth, but it's a good start, especially for it only being the third day of summer.

After we got the leather jacket, we went out for milkshakes. We had fun, and I must admit that right about now my grandma is my best friend. Despite being way older than me, we have fun together and we really are quite alike in a few ways.

It feels like sometimes all I need  
>Is to be near someone who's similar to me.<br>Someone who proves I'm not all that strange,  
>Or someone that shows me that weird is good.<br>I already knew that weird was good.  
>I already knew that I am weird.<br>But sometimes it's nice not to be alone  
>With my weird hobbies and style.<br>And although being myself is perfectly fine  
>I must admit that every once in a while<br>It's fun to find  
>Someone like me.<p>

See ya later, Journal!

SAMALAMALAMALAMALAM!

(PS: That sure is fun to say aloud!)

**Wednesday, June 20****th****: **

Goth Items Collection:

Leather jacket.  
>Pair of black combat boots<br>Two black plain t shirts  
>Six pairs of colored jeans: two black, two grey, and two purple.<br>Pair of purple and black headphones  
>Black mp3 player<p>

It's not like I can use any of this stuff, minus the headphones and mp3, until school starts. Even then, I'll have to sneak it into school and change there. Hopefully someday I will be able to tell my parents about what I am doing. Maybe they'll accept me, but I'm not taking any chances just yet.

I feel as if when I was younger, in the fourth grade, I told my parents everything. Now I'm to the point that if I don't have to tell them I won't. I think most kids reach this age when they become teenagers, but with parents like mine, it's no wonder this stage came early for me.

But, unlike teenagers, I didn't come into this stage full force with no regrets (or at least that's what I think teenagers do). I still want to be close to my parents, and I still want to tell them everything, I'm just too… afraid to do so.

I know it sounds stupid, but when I was younger I had to tell my mother everything just to clear my conscience. I guess I've gotten used to not having a perfect conscience, because now my fear of her not approving of me (which isn't all that of an irrational fear: have you met my parents?) outweighs my desire for a 'clean' conscience.

I still want to have a close relationship with my mom, just like I had when I was younger, but now I know that that will never happen. Between my aspiring to be someone new, and her hating what I'm becoming, things do not look good for us.

Thoroughly depressed now,

Samantha Manson

**Thursday, June 28th:**

Automated  
>Sometimes I feel as though<br>I am just living to go through the motions  
>I'll do the same thing tomorrow that I did today<br>And the same thing I did yesterday  
>I'm stuck in the never ending cycle we call life<br>And sometimes I wish I was automated  
>Designed to do just one job<br>And not having to worry about anything else  
>But I'd rather be different<br>I'd rather make a difference in this world  
>Then just doing average.<br>So now I know I want to be extraordinary  
>I know I don't want to go through the motions.<br>And all I have to figure out is how.

Just like today's poem said, I don't want to be another gear in the clock, doing the same thing over and over again every day for the same result every time. I want to do something different; I want to turn the figurative clock into time machine, unpredictable and epic.

But I'm an incoming sixth grader, an aspiring Goth, and virtually friendless. Literally no one listens to what I do say, and those that can hear me ignore me. What can I possibly do?

I've had this argument with myself many, many times, but it keeps coming up in my head. I think it is because I never get an answer to my question; I can't find a conclusion no matter how hard I look. The only relief I can get from the subject is from forgetting.

I find that the only way I can cure the funks I find myself in is either forgetfulness, which I don't want, or forcing myself to believe that I will, that I can, make a difference. That I can save a life. Just one life, or maybe even starting a chain reaction that saves a life, and my life has a purpose.

Are people born lucky? Is it by luck that I was born into the United States instead of some poor soul in currently living in a third world country? What is his or her life like now? Would she or he have done more good for the world if she or he was born here instead of me?

Well now I am thoroughly depressed.

Guess it's time to force feed some happiness.

Hello, music.

See ya later,

Sam.

**AN: Okay, that was kinda sad. Really sad. I can't believe I wrote that. Well, remember to review. And favorite and follow. Guess that's it. See you guys next time!**


	10. June 29th (TRIGGER WARNING!)

_**TRIGGER WARNING: TALK OF (BUT NOT ACTUAL, OR PLANNIG OF) SELF-HARM AND SUICIDE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK?**_

**AN: Hello readers, as you might have guessed, for the summer months, every chapter will be a month. That being said, I'm postponing what I was going to write (July) in favor of addressing an important issue. Self-harm. Now, I myself have never self-harmed but I do have a friend who has done it before. And it accomplishes nothing but making you- and the people around you- more miserable. DO NOT SELF HARM. LIVE.**

**Sam will not self-harm or commit suicide in this story (or in any story of mine), but she will talk about the subject. In case this wasn't obvious, I DO NOT ENCOURAGE SELF HARMING OR SUICIDE… and neither does Sam. But, I guess I have to put a TRIGGER WARNING or something on this because it will be mentioned.**

**SELF-HARMING AND SUICIDE NOT ONLY HURT YOURSELF, BUT THEY HURT THOSE AROUND YOU. IT IS TRULY A LOSE-LOSE SITUATION.**

**Enjoy?**

**Friday, June 29****th****:**

My mom keeps telling me how all of life is choices. That I'm at the point in my life where my choices define me. The age of accountability. She makes it sound like I'm a fence, one wrong choice and I'm down in the dumps, and one right choice and I take another step towards the edge of the fence- towards death. But really, with every right step only comes the obligation to make another right step. Its either be perfect for the rest of my life or make one mistake and mess up my entire life.

Honestly, it kinda scares me. What if becoming a Goth makes me truly apathetic, and I become the Hitler of the future World War III? **(AN: I don't support Hitler either, FYI)** One mistake and I end up killing and hurting tons of people? But then my parents' idea of perfect is a lady in a pretty pink dress who is optimistic and kind.

But what if I'm already hurting tons of people? What if my sarcastic comments are slowly wearing people down? What if they take my insults to heart?

Nah, no one really cares what I say. Or what I do. Or about me at all. They never have and never will. Dang, now I sound like a basket case. The usual self-harming teen. But I don't self harm, and I'm eleven years old!

Besides, I've reconciled myself to no one caring. Okay, now I'm just lying. Everyone has SOMEONE who cares for them; and I've got my grandma. Besides, I don't care about those people, so why should they care about me? Expecting them to care about me when I don't care about them is hypocritical.

I don't get self-harm. Maybe it's because, like I said, I'm only eleven, and nothing truly terrible has happened in my life yet. I don't get bullied (just ignored), I'm happy with who I am (possibly a little too much) and what I look like (minus the clothes my parents make me wear). So it's understandable that I don't get self-harm. But even realizing some of the crap people go through, I still don't get why people self-harm.

Maybe it's just me. I've said before that I'm not afraid of death (although I'm not suicidal either. I'm not afraid of death, but life is WAYYYYY better.) but I'm afraid of painful life. And being the cause of something I'm afraid of happening to me is terrifying. The closet I'll ever get to purposely hurting myself is the occasional head bang on the wall.

Maybe people self-harm because they need to feel numb. I know that if I bang my head on a wall a few times (when I'm especially frustrated) I feel a little numb. But that's just be because of a mini concussion. I get how you would feel numb from a mini concussion (I couldn't think), but slitting your wrists? How does that make you numb? I think it'd sting. Bad.

And why are people suicidal? I've seen stuff online: "I have nothing to live for!" I want to just scream at them! Ask them, "And what do you have to die for?" You die, you're done. Gone from this world, its game over for you. At least when you're alive there is hope for a better day. There is no hope when you're dead, BECAUSE YOU'RE FREAKING DEAD.

Suicide is selfish. The way I see it, when you can't live anymore for yourself, when you yourself have no reason to live, you have to live for others. You have to live because others don't want you dead. You have to live because if you die, you leave someone else lonely. When you have no reason to live anymore, then it's not about you anymore. It's about others.

But then, that's me talking. Selfish Sam. Hypocrite Sam.

But you know what? I'm going to be selfish if one of my friends (not that I have very many, but I'm hoping that with a new school, I'll find one) wants to commit suicide. I'm going to be so selfish that I want my friend so badly that I won't let them leave me. They don't get a choice. They're staying.

Why should you live?  
>You should live for tomorrow morning,<br>You should live for your favorite food.  
>You should live to hear your favorite song again<br>Or maybe to make a new friend.  
>That was cliché.<br>But you should live through today.  
>You should live so you can see the summer<br>You should live so you can cuddle up during the winter.  
>You should live so you can see the sun rise,<br>You should live so you can watch the stars at night.  
>You should live for what and whom you love<br>You should live for your family.  
>You should live for those who love you.<br>So you should live for me.

Okay, that was probably one of the best poems I've ever written. And now I'm bragging.

Till next time,

Sam.

**AN: I hope you guys enjoyed(?). Remember to leave a review- they are appreciated. IF YOU NEED TO TALK ABOUT ANYTHING… PM ME. I've been lonely…..**

**See ya in a little while with a hopefully happy chapter,**

**INSANITYISCLARITY**


	11. July

**AN: You guys have probably heard the whole "I've been so busy" speech from many authors. But seriously. In the past week, I've had testing, got 10****th**** place in a county spelling bee, watched Not What He Seems, went roller skating, to a basketball game, a scholastic bowl tournament, youth group, and had homework and piano. So sorry for not updating. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry again for the late update, and remember to leave a review!**

**Sunday, July 1****st****:**

Okay, so I read through this journal. Here are some things I noticed:

Over time, I've started to like my parents less and less.

I've went from just researching Goth stuff, to having my own (albeit small) collection of Gothic stuff stashed in the back of my closet.

I've become more apathetic while becoming more thoughtful. I feel hurt, and feel remorse, and think things through (too much sometimes), but I'm getting better at not showing my emotions. Well, besides happiness. I still show happiness. And anger. And a little joy. And very few times I'll show sadness (in the form of long silences). So, in reality, I guess I'm not very apathetic at all…

I've made two traditions: Tuesday nights with Uncle Jem (I still miss those) and Tuesday nights with Grandma (which lessens the hurt- I'm not apathetic!- of losing the previous tradition a little).

I'm a hypocrite. On November 13th I wrote that I was afraid of change, but on June 28th, I said I wanted change. I guess I'm afraid of change, because in theory, change takes everything we've ever known and completely warps it. But it doesn't. Most huge changes come all at once, they sneak in in parts, so that your mind subconsciously knows that they are there, and yet you don't really think about them all that often.

On June 20th, I forgot to write a poem. Oops.

I didn't mention my 11th birthday (June 23rd) at all. It went pretty good. I got an ultra recyclo vegetarian (although my parents refer to it as vegan. I don't know why- you can say it both ways and ultra recyclo vegetarian sounds so much more cool) friendly cake. I also got some pink dresses (yay) that will meet my (new) black spray paint (I got it yesterday) ASAP.

I'm really getting sick of being the "chaos in the family." It's like whenever something goes wrong, it's my fault. I will admit that sometimes it is my fault- sometimes on purpose and sometimes accidentally-, but a lot of times it isn't

Mom and Dad get in a fight over some adult thing, and it's my fault, because my negativity put them in a bad mood. I say something sarcastic, and suddenly those two can't go on their anniversary dinner. I close a door harder than I meant to and suddenly I have a delinquent attitude. Seriously: I AM NOT THE CAUSE OF ALL THE EVIL IN THE WORLD!

I try to forget about all of their comments, because I end up depressed if I don't, but it's hard. I don't want to be this evil human being who causes everyone's misery. I want to be myself: not a goody two shoes, but not _evil_, just me. But when I forget their comments, then I mess up again, because I don't care enough to get better.

I don't want to be perfectly good.  
>Good has too many restrictions,<br>You have to perfect all the time  
>And a good role model too.<br>But I don't want to be bad,  
>Bad people hurt others<br>And I really don't want to cause someone pain.  
>But if I'm not good, and I'm not bad,<br>Then what am I; who am I?  
>I want to be a real person,<br>A person who tries to do good things  
>But messes up on occasion.<br>A person who changes the world for the better  
>Yet isn't the poster person for kindness either.<br>I don't want to be perfectly good,  
>And I don't want to be bad,<br>I want to be me.

And that was that.

Bye for now,

Sam.

**Thursday, July 5****th****:**

Yesterday was Independence Day. I love the Fourth of July: freedom and fireworks for the win.

Colors light up the sky.  
>Not like the waves of sunrise<br>Or the hills of the sunset  
>Or the calm swoosh of the rainbow.<br>Fireworks are anything but calm,  
>Bursting into sky in bouts of color<br>Never boring, never calming.  
>It's always a surprise to see what's next.<br>Huge and sparkly, they are anything but discreet  
>They are noticeable and exciting,<br>Appealing to everyone, especially me.

That's all I have for today.

-Sam.

**Friday, July 27****th****:**

Goth collection:

Leather jacket (made with fake leather, of course)  
>Combat boots (two pairs)<br>3 black plain t-shirts  
>8 pairs of colored jeans: four black, two purple, and two grey<br>Purple and black headphones  
>Mp3 player<br>Black-with-silver-spikes bracelet

It's coming along nicely. The new bracelet I made yesterday with some extra fake leather I found in a pocket in my jacket (I don't know why it was there)and a glue gun. It wasn't all that hard. I just glued two ends of the 'leather' together than glued some plastic spikes (not huge, but noticeable spikes) I found in a craft store on. 

Inventing me.  
>Who am I?<br>Am I a stereotype,  
>An archetype?<br>An original or a copy?  
>Sometimes it seems like<br>That my main mission in life  
>Is simply finding me.<p>

Identity crisis much, Sam?

Oh well,

See ya,

Sam… or is it?

**AN: Thanks for reading! Once again, sorry for the late update-I try to update this story weekly. I hope you guys have a great week, and reviews, favorites and follows are greatly appreciated! And GF fans, Not What He Seems was epic. And I didn't even believe in the Stan twin theory. But back on topic. Thanks for reading and see ya next week!**

**See ya,**

**InsanityIsClarity… or is it?**


	12. August

**AN: Hello peeps! This will be the last chapter before Sam meets Danny and Tucker… the wait is almost over! Well, enjoy the chapter. And don't forget to review!**

**Sunday, August 5****th**

Okay, this is one of those good-news-bad-news situations. The ones where the bad news completely cancels out the good news, and then some. The good news: My parents signed me up for a poetry contest at the local library (although they still don't know about you, Journal). The bad news: they keep talking to me about writing a beautiful poem about nature, or an element in nature.

Death is an element of nature, but I don't think that's what my parents meant. But the poems aren't due until August 20th, so I've got some time to figure out what in the world I'm going to do. Until then, I'll just write the poem I would've liked to send in in here.

Nature.  
>The birds sing<br>Yet one day they will be silent  
>The tree branches sway,<br>But one day the tree will wilt away.  
>To make room for a new generation<br>The old generations must die  
>It's the natural order of life.<br>Death is as natural as birth.

Morbidly me,

Sam.

**Thursday, August 16****th**

I've got the poem for the contest written and sent in.

The bird sings  
>And tree branches sway<br>A new generation is born  
>After the old one has gone away<br>Life springs forth out of everything.  
>Birth really is beautiful.<p>

Sappy and full of pretty words- exactly what I was going for. I showed it to my parents, and they were pleased.

Sometimes I disgust myself. I try so hard to be confident in being me, but even I know that I mess up. A lot. And some of the things I say are really, really mean. And I don't care that I am being mean, which is what truly bothers me.

It's like I don't even care about anyone but myself. I'm selfish, reclusive, jealous, and a hypocrite. I hide by myself, but get internally sad that no one ever talks to me. I'm jealous of what others do, yet brag when I do better than them. I am a hypocrite in every meaning of the word. I want friends, but I probably don't deserve them.

Honestly, I always think of myself as this great person. But I'm really not. I'm generally polite, but I'm never kind. I can be peaceful, but the sometimes I get really angry. I can be funny, but my sense of humor is morbid, and it leaves people questioning their existence a lot of times.

I really should be a nicer person. But something tells me it'll be a lot harder than I'm assuming.

Why do I say the things I say  
>Knowing perfectly well that they are mean<br>Why am I so rude to everyone,  
>Why must I hurt others feelings?<br>Why must I do what I do?  
>Why must I be me?<p>

Bye Journal,

Sam.

Tuesday, August 21st

**Monday August 27th**

So I've been writing in this journal for a year. Happy birthday, Journal!

Well, I've got the results from the poetry contest. I got fifth place… out of 7 people. Apparently that was really good to my parents, so they bought me a fruit smoothie. At least something good came out of this.

I start middle school in 5 days- September 1st. I've read about middle school in books and online. Apparently it's supposed to be pure torture. At least I'm not a fancy private school (with uniforms, ugh) anymore. Still, wish me luck. I'll need it.

I have to say, I'm nervous as heck. I've heard tons of horror stories about the place, and quite honestly, I'm not sure I'll survive. Or if, when I get out, I'll still be me. From what I've heard, these next three years will either make me or break me, rhyming intended.

I know that if I just stick to the shadows and don't get involve, that I'll be fine. But I don't want to be just fine. I want to participate. I don't want to spend more years as the creepy goth wallflower. I want to make friends, live a life. Not just survive, but thrive. Rhyming intended!

And yet I can't shake these feelings of petty nervousness. What if my classmates don't like me? What if I have no friends? What if the teachers are too mean? What if the work is too hard?

What if I die from exhaustion because all the teachers are cruel dictators and all the students are heartless jerks?

Okay, that last one I just wrote to show myself that I will be fine. As long as I don't die, I will be ok. I'll cross all the other bridges when I get there.

Why am I nervous?  
>Why am I scared?<br>I'm never nervous  
>And am scarcely scared,<br>So why now?  
>Why am I now feeling this way?<br>Why am I now getting all jittery  
>Over something that's not a big deal anyways<br>Is it normal to feel this way?  
>But I'm not normal!<br>So why am I so frightened  
>Of something so common as school<br>Maybe if I pretend I'm not nervous,  
>My nervousness will go away.<br>Hopefully.

Maybe if I deny what I'm feeling, the feelings will go away?

Wish me luck,

Sam.

**AN: Thanks for reading! Reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated. And wish me luck in my life too please!**

**InsanityIsClarity.**


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